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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24827434">An Agreeable Match</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypothetical_chainsaw/pseuds/hypothetical_chainsaw'>hypothetical_chainsaw</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Downton Abbey</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, How They Met, Prequel, cobert, pre-season</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 04:06:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,189</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24827434</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypothetical_chainsaw/pseuds/hypothetical_chainsaw</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Cora has long been told she has the ability to shape her own path and follow her dream, as her father has before her. Robert is the last of his friends to be married, struggling to find a bride who meets both his and his parent's expectations. They are, they suppose, an agreeable match. Cobert prequel that will eventually bleed into the show. Predominantly canon compliant.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Cora Crawley/Robert Crawley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Cross-posting from FF - late to the Downton Party but it's got me in the writing mood for the first time since my degree. That being said, I'm a tad rusty so bear with me!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div class="xcontrast">
  <p></p>
  <div>
    <p></p>
    <div>
      <p>The air was thick with dust in the warehouse, it always was, and she found it comforting to pass row after row of crates; the Levinson name ever-present below the thin layer of powder. The place reminded her of dreams; the dreams her father had and, as he had told her on every birthday, that she could have. Isidore had set out to defy the expectations of his birth with his dreams; to create a life he and his future family could be proud of. Cora felt her dream was different to her father's; she wanted a family worthy of the life her father had provided.</p>
      <p>Reaching the far end of the building, she tapped against the door to her father's office, entering without waiting for a response. She found him hunched over a series of papers, reviewing them in the last vestiges of light as the sun set outside the window. He nodded in acknowledgement of her entry but his eyes remained fixed to the page before him.</p>
      <p>"Mother says if you're not back in time for dinner again you won't be eating any." She smiled softly but knew her mother had been serious. Finding herself without response, Cora rounded the desk, taking the paperwork from his hands, "Father," She admonished as she recognised the handwriting as that of his lawyer, "Mr Fenich has worked alongside his father on your contracts for five years, all of them in your favour. Surely you can trust that this one is too?"</p>
      <p>"<em>Alongside</em> his father is right." Isidore finally lifted his gaze to his daughter, "But would you trust any work Harold managed on his own?"</p>
      <p>Cora sighed in defeat, returning the papers to his outstretched hand, "Mr Fenich is hardly Harold." With soft disdain she added, "Thankfully no man is." Knowing she had lost, she placed a kiss on her father's cheek, turning back to the door, "I'll ask the cook to keep a plate aside."</p>
      <p>Leaving the office she shook her head at her father before closing the door and turning, startled to find Mr Fenich stood before her. Right before her; his hand frozen in midair ready to rap against the door's surface. Her cheeks coloured instantly at the proximity.</p>
      <p>"Mr Fenich!" She tilted her head upwards to meet his eyes. His breath dusted her lips and she was certain she could press hers to his were she to move an inch more.</p>
      <p>He takes a step back instantly, bowing his head apologetically, and Cora found herself almost wishing he hadn't.</p>
      <p>"Apologies Miss Levinson, I didn't see you there." Tinges of pink appeared beneath his collar as he spoke.</p>
      <p>They had known each other since Cora had been a young girl, much more interested in playing hide and seek between the crates than waiting with her father as he worked. Mr Fenich, or Abner as she'd then called him, had often joined his, now late, father on visits to the warehouse in preparation of joining the family firm. He was three years older than Cora, but had reveled in sneaking from his father's side to join her games when Harold wouldn't play.</p>
      <p>"Nonsense," She willed the blush to leave her, silently chastising herself for how uncouth she must appear. They had remained cordial throughout her teenage years but many of the games had ended. Now standing before the man he had become, and highly aware of how a lady's friendship with a man could blossom into more, she found she had lost much of the ease with which she once addressed him, "I was practically on top of you."</p>
      <p>He reddened more, "You were, quite." After a pause Mr Fenich cleared his throat, angling his head towards the door, "Is Mr Levinson finished with the paperwork? I never knew him to take so long reading over a contract."</p>
      <p>"Mr Fenich, my father has three children," Cora places a tentative hand to his chest, hoping it comes across as reassuringly as she meant it, "Harold, myself, and this business." She straightens his lapels softly," If he ever treats it with any less care that's when you should be concerned." She lets her hand fall to her side and makes her way passed him.</p>
      <hr/>
      <p>As Cora settled herself at the dining table, Isidore's uneven gait could be heard in the hall. For once he had taken her mother's threats seriously, one too many hungry evenings having made him see sense. As he took his usual seat at the head of the table, a heavy silence settled. Her parents were preparing for something and, as both their focuses fixed on her, she felt certain she knew what it was. She idly speared a carrot with her fork as she waited to see who would break the silence.</p>
      <p>"The summer season will not be a repeat of New York." It was Martha, her voice ringing out across the table. It was directed at Harold and the meaning was not lost on him. He had behaved appallingly during her first season.</p>
      <p>"Mother, if you want your son to ingratiate himself with the elite of New York society, he has to show he can play at their level." It wasn't the first time they'd heard Harold's explanation and Martha pursed her lips in annoyance.</p>
      <p>"Forgive me if I'm wrong, but I don't think spending the night face first in a rosebush had quite the effect you were looking for." Cora bit, not caring how her words sounded.</p>
      <p>The winter season in New York had ended abruptly for the Levinsons, upon the discovery of a half-dressed Harold sprawled on the Allinson's lawn. She had been thoroughly humiliated as he all but lost his modesty and it had taken both their father and driver to hoist him into the carriage as 200 of the country's most eligible young men and women watched. She had yet to receive an apology. It appeared her not entirely subtle reminders of this were to have the desired outcome and Harold was to remain in Cincinnati over the next season.</p>
      <p>If she were to be honest with herself, Cora almost thought she should thank her brother. Whilst mortifying, his actions had left her without an offer of engagement at the end of the season and had allowed her precious months to consider how she might make Mr Fenich a potential suitor. He had been slow to understand her approaches but, with six weeks remaining until they would need to depart for the summer, she was hopeful she could make her wishes perfectly clear before her time was out.</p>
      <p>A season without Harold however would be a comforting second option should she fail.</p>
      <p>"I want a son not set on ruining his sister's prospects before his own season." Though they were Martha's words, Cora was certain her father shared the sentiment.</p>
      <p>Cora supposed she should be thankful she had another season before Harold would be out himself and able to bring a larger scandal upon the family.</p>
      <p>"Cora," She turned to her father, finding his smile did not quite reach his eyes, "Your mother and I want the next season to run smoothly," He gripped her hand in his, "And we agree that a season in London with your mother would be best."</p>
      <p>"London?" Her voice was small. She'd never been to England.</p>
      <p>It could be exciting. She'd only read about England in books but it seemed frightfully quaint from her stories; like an America before the progress it's modern thinking had brought about. Harold truly couldn't be further. Her chances for a proposal by the end of the season would be lost; she could guarantee none of the men there would be quite what she wanted for herself. She would simply need to make a more concerted effort to win Mr Ferich's affections before the season would begin but six weeks should be sufficient.</p>
      <p>"We'll be leaving at the end of the week." Martha's words were a blow she hadn't been expecting and her fork fell from her grip to clatter noisily against her plate, "Trust me darling," her mother began, misreading her shock for trepidation, "The families over there will love you."</p>
      <hr/>
      <p>Robert stood before his tailor's mirror, sighing heavily as the man asked him again to lift his arm. How his tails could need adjusting every year he would never know.</p>
      <p>This would be his fifth year in London and the first in which he would truly know no one. There would of course be acquaintances, families he knew of by name, but the last of those he could call a friend had announced his engagement not two weeks into the last season. Robert had been certain he'd marry before Sholto Canningbrook at the very least, but even he'd manage to find himself a rather meek little thing to accept his offer of engagement.</p>
      <p>After four years of meeting potential brides only to have his parents disapprove of the match he had rather lost his interest in the entire process. Whilst he had met with many beautiful women each season, last year was the first time he had fully let his guard down. He had been reacquainted with Lady Rosalyn Tyncroft early in the season. The pair had not seen each other since the summer he had spent in Margate shortly before his 14th birthday. He had boarded with her brother, Colin, his first year at Eton and had afterward been invited to spend the summer at their estate, clambering over sand dunes and wading in the seafoam. Colin had been struck with tuberculosis not long after his visit and hadn't returned to school the following term. The pair hadn't spoken again.</p>
      <p>Nearly a decade later, time had done her well. Rosalyn had just turned 18 and was by far the most beautiful woman Robert believed he'd ever set eyes on. He remained enthralled the entire season; requesting a dance at every ball, stealing private moments with on balconies and in hallways, and never failing to be amazed at the easy wit she had developed as she'd matured.</p>
      <p>A month into the season Robert had broached the topic of a proposal with his father. Rosalyn had been found an unsuitable match. A recent investment had gone sour leaving them only their house and name. They had done everything within their power to cling to the upper echelon of society in the hopes of a prosperous marriage for Rosalyn, but this information made them the very furthest from what was needed to continue Downton and his father had expressly forbade it. By the end of the season Rosalyn had been spoken for and Robert had been left utterly disillusioned.</p>
      <p>He knew there had been whispers. Soon he felt sure he would receive the "eternal bachelor" moniker and to be perfectly honest he didn't think he minded.</p>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The chill sea air stung her eyes, sending tears rolling down her cheeks. It was far too cold to be out on the deck this long, Cora knew that, but a combination of too much time spent with her mother and the steady pitching of the ship, as it reached the crest of each wave, had sent her in search of fresh air. She had never felt more ill than she had the three days she had so far endured on board.</p><p>Cora had often felt nauseous on the small boat they sailed out on each summer in Newport, but her mother had promised her with a ship this size she'd hardly feel the movement at all. It had been a lie. From the moment she had stepped on board, her legs felt uneasy and the familiar discomfort had begun in her stomach. She hadn't kept a single meal down, only managing to stomach ginger ale and a few saltines the entire journey. She thanked her lucky stars that her father, all too aware of her seasickness, had seen fit to send her with both.</p><p>How she would survive another five days of this she would never know.</p><p>Taking one final inhale of the salty air, Cora turned, returning to her cabin. No sound could be heard from her mother's adjoining room and she expected she was still enjoying the dining room's offerings. She should have peace for a short time at least.</p><p>Cora sat at the small desk where she kept her writing things, thankful that the maid had left a small lamp lit after dressing her for dinner; the cabin became horribly dark in the evenings and she did not think herself capable of finding and lighting a lamp herself if she had not.</p><p>Following her parents announcement of their plans for her summer Cora had found herself with little time spare, her mother overseeing dress fittings and itineraries. Her requests to visit the warehouse one last time had subsequently landed on deaf ears and she had found herself without the opportunity to say her goodbyes to Mr Fenich. They would not return until nearly July. She had sat with her dearest friend, Laura Babbins the night before her departure, chronicling the sorrow of 'a young love prevented from flourishing.' Ever the romantic, Laura had agreed to play her messenger and so Cora found herself writing two letters; one for Mr Fenich, and a second for Laura with strict instructions to deliver it without reading it. She finished Abner's with a spritz of perfume she hoped would conjure fond images of her, stowing both in her drawer with a sigh.</p><hr/><p>"Papa, honestly, which family is wealthy enough to shoulder the running of Downton as well as their own estate? This, and every season following, will be without point if you can't come to accept that my marriage won't be Downton's saviour." Robert huffed as he sat back in the carriage seat.</p><p>He always deplored the train journey to London. With each trip his father would attempt to instil the purpose of this season while his mother listed potentially suitable debutantes. Violet had been particularly silent this year, her research having uncovered few names.</p><p>"Not all families will be planning the running of their own estate for the next generation. There will be several far more concerned with ensuring their daughter maintains a title." Several may have been an overestimation but there would no doubt be one or two who Violet hadn't been made aware of.</p><p>"Name me one." Robert stared, eyebrows raised at Patrick. The older man simply lit his pipe, puffing steadily from it in response. "Surely a few sound business investments would prove a more stable solution than pinning our hopes on a wealthy heiress with no brother?" Robert implored. While he hadn't been allowed to make any decisions for the estate as yet, Robert was certain if he had an opportunity to take a look at their finances he could bring an end to this yearly farce.</p><p>"Robert," His mama getting involved drew a line under any hope he still clung to of spending his summer with his friends, "The moment you can make sound investments without capital your father and I will hand the running of Downton to you without a second thought. Until such a time comes, your sole goal is to find a suitable bride before the summer is out.</p><hr/><p>Cora was famished. Their ship had been delayed by storms halfway across the Atlantic, adding an additional two days to their journey. When finally they had reached Liverpool Cora had been so grateful she'd rather emphatically thanked the heavens and earned herself more than a few quizzical looks.</p><p>Her footing still tentative on solid ground, she took her mother's arm; half for stability, half for comfort. This was not as she'd imagined at all. The port was teaming with people; sun-wrinkled men carrying crates across the docks as they shouted god knows what to each other. At least their cries sounded good-natured enough she supposed. For the first time that week she was glad to have her mother by her side; a welcome piece of home to cling on to.</p><p>"Welcome to England." Martha smirks out, pressing a kiss to the top of her daughter's head before barking orders at the coachman they had hired for their stay, "Bags in the carriage. Wilson will show you to them." She inclined her head towards her Lady's maid before turning back to the driver, "You'll have us in London by tomorrow evening."</p><p>The man nodded, following Wilson at a brisk jog.</p><hr/><p>The idea of coming out in British society seemed positively ludicrous to Cora; she had had her own debutante ball 6 months ago and, as far as she and the American upper classes were concerned, she was already out. Add to that the fact that she had little desire to spark the interest of an English lord, and move so far from home, and it became a pointless exercise. Her mother thankfully felt the same, declaring that they'd fought for their independence and she wasn't about to start curtsying for any monarch.</p><p>They were instead to arrive directly at the ball of Lord and Lady Wainwright that evening. Lord Wainwright had long been a business partner of her father's and had agreed to extend an invitation in the hopes that it may see them added to the guest lists of the balls across London. It'd be a short season if not, she mused.</p><p>Despite being adamant that she was not in pursuit of a husband during her time in England, Cora was acutely aware of the moisture on her palms as Wilson pulled the laces of her corset taut. Until that moment she had all but forgotten that she wouldn't know a single person there. The prospect was daunting to say the least.</p><p>Hearing her stomach growl, Cora looked back at Wilson.</p><p>"They don't have any scraps in the kitchen?" She tried to cover the desperation in her voice as she stared back at her reflection in the mirror. This corset had never cinched fully and now it closed without issue, nearly two weeks on a diet of crackers having taken its toll.</p><p>She had taken pity on the maid and shared the last of her saltines with her on the journey from Liverpool but they hadn't stopped once before reaching London and Cora hadn't eaten anything substantial since leaving America. Had they arrived two days earlier, as intended, Martha assured her they would have had plenty of time to stop but as it was the ball had already begun when they reached their hotel and they were drawing perilously near to the end of being fashionably late.</p><p>"Your mother's causing a storm downstairs to get something. Apparently the chef isn't due to arrive for another hour." Wilson secured the corset with a small bow before reaching for the bustle she was to wear, "Someone will be losing their job by the time she's finished with them." Martha Levinson was a force to be reckoned with and, as long as her animosity wasn't directed at Wilson, the maid loved to witness the fallout.</p><p>"You think only one?" Cora quipped, bracing herself for the additional weight of the bustle, "Surely there'll be canapés this evening, won't there? She has no reason to threaten the livelihood of that poor man simply because she couldn't bear for us to be late."</p><p>If she thought about it, Cora couldn't bear to be late either. To arrive when the festivities were already in full swing and no one felt compelled to talk to a stranger would be disastrous.</p><p>Wilson fastened the last button of her dress, smoothing the skirts with a satisfied smile. At least she would look every bit the lady.</p><p>"Thank you, Wilson." She turned, allowing the maid to affix a broach to her collar, "Now please do get some rest. I believe this is to be a long night and I have a task for you tomorrow."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Robert had been right; he recognised few faces in the crowd, and those he did he knew better than to dance with. Lady Jane Marston stood against the far wall. He was not at all surprised to see her without a partner; he found Lady Marston a most disagreeable woman who insisted on leading whenever she danced. Beside her, Lady Catherine Allam. Robert had never met a woman who giggled as much as Lady Allam. Her eagerness to dance was evident as she swayed this way and that, offering a smile to any man who dared look her way. She was harmless enough but had no sense of rhythm and could ruin both a man's shoes and his ability to walk by the end of a particularly energetic attempt at a Viennese waltz.</p>
<p>Finally there was Lady Rosalyn Tyncroft, or Wainwright as she'd been known since her wedding. Robert could already imagine the outrage on his mother's face if he were to dance with a married woman, much less Lady Rosalyn. It was just his luck, he thought dejectedly, that she would marry into the family hosting the first ball of the season. Her new sister-in-law was the debutante of the evening; the young Lady Grace Wainwright. Lady Grace had danced with no less than twelve young Lords so far and had many more promised before the night was out. Robert swirled the last of the wine in his glass. This was to be a long evening.</p>
<p>Out of the corner of his eye he caught his mama. She was seated with several of the other mothers, all assessing the dancefloor as they spoke. She scanned the dancers, clearly searching for him. When at last her eyes found him, far from the activity, her glare pierced him hard. Downing the remains of his wine, Robert pushed off from the wall placing his glass on the tray of a nearby footman. If he ignored her much longer she would arrange a dance partner for him.</p>
<p>Having avoided the inevitable for as long as he could, he made towards Lady Allam only to pause halfway across the floor as he spotted someone he hadn't seen before. In fact, Robert was quite certain he had never seen her before. <em>Perhaps the daughter of a very protective Lord</em>, he mused. She too appeared to be surveying the room forlornly. Her fingers tapped against her glass as she kept time with the waltz. She was positively glowing and Robert was uncertain whether it was rouge or the wine that had brought about the colour in her cheeks. She saw him a moment later and her eyes lit up. Did he know her? He had little time to contemplate where he might have met her before she had squeezed her way through the dancing couples to stand at his side.</p>
<p>"Lady-"</p>
<p>She shook her head, correcting him, "<em>Cora</em>."</p>
<p>He faltered. American. They definitely hadn't met before, he would have remembered that. Never had he heard someone so certain that they must be called by their first name.</p>
<p>He followed suit, "Robert."</p>
<p>Cora nodded, her attention returning to the music and she began to hum along. He stood silently beside her deciding it would be enough to placate his mama for a short time. If she was an American debutante it was little wonder his mama hadn't been aware of her.</p>
<p>"I'm supposed to be dancing with somebody." She sipped her wine to silence the gurgling in her stomach. "<em>Anybody</em>." The last word was thick with longing and her gaze never leaving the dancers, "But how do you dance when everybody's already dancing?" Robert marveled; he had never seen a grown woman pout before.</p>
<p>There were more than enough men not already dancing, but they were standing in groups either deep in conversation or laughing at something or other. He could see how that might be an intimidating prospect.</p>
<p>There was an easy solution to end her misery and yet she hadn't seen it. <em>Or maybe she had</em>, he thought, and she'd rather see if he would end it for her. Either way Robert found himself extending his hand, drawing her attention, "I'm not dancing already."</p>
<p>A smile overtook her features and she tilted her head to him, "No, you're not, are you?" She left her glass to one side and her hand slipped delicately into his, "Care to dance, Robert?"</p>
<p>He couldn't avoid the laugh that erupted from his throat at that. She wasn't what he'd expected at all.</p>
<p>As the next waltz started, she was in his arms waiting for his count. After only one glass of wine, on a fairly empty stomach, she found herself clinging to him rather more tightly than she otherwise would have. Cora was pleasantly surprised at how well he moved and let herself follow his step. She closed her eyes, focusing on the gentle changes in pressure as his hand at her back directed her left and right, and hummed softly.</p>
<p>"You're a strong leader." She breathed, thankful for something familiar, no matter how brief.</p>
<p>"Are you always this direct?" Robert watched as her lips curved upwards. He had to admit, she was entertaining.</p>
<p>"I'm always honest if that's what you mean."</p>
<p>They continued, unspeaking, for some time until her humming broke the silence once more. Suddenly uncomfortable at what seemed too intimate a sound for her to be making in the arms of a man she had just met, Robert searched his mind for something to something to halt it.</p>
<p>"Have you been in England long?"</p>
<p>Cora shook her head softly, "We arrived only yesterday. I've seen little that wasn't outside the carriage window."</p>
<p>After days of non-stop travel, she was fast coming to the conclusion it had not been worth it. The journey had harrowed her. She felt woozy, the quick pace of the dance mixing with the unfortunate combination of alcohol and too little food. Her face took on a ghostly pallor and she leant her forehead against his chest for a moment's reprieve from the spinning.</p>
<p>This was too much. Robert faltered and her eyes opened suddenly; pulled from her trance by the missed step.</p>
<p>"Robert, I-" It sounded alien to hear his name from her lips and he wasn't sure he was fond of it.</p>
<p>Keen to create some distance between them, he jerked back from her touch. She teetered on her toes, ill-prepared for such an abrupt movement. In an attempt to steady herself, Cora's arm swung out for the first thing within her grasp; a passing footman. The tray he balanced slipped, wine sloshing forward, marring the crisp white of Robert's shirt with specs of red.</p>
<p>There was nothing Cora could say as Robert turned heel and marched from the room. She had a vague awareness of the footman apologizing profusely, offering the towel from his arm as he readjusted the tray.</p>
<p>"Oh heavens," A feminine voice broke through her haze, "your dress is positively sopping."</p>
<p>Finally blinking away from the spot Robert had vacated, Cora turned to the kindly woman who had addressed her. She hadn't noticed the wine seeping through the silk until that moment.</p>
<p>"Are you quite alright?"</p>
<p>Briefly assessing herself, Cora found little more than her pride was injured, "Just a little lightheaded." She was grateful for the arm that was proffered out in assistance and gripped the woman's forearm tightly.</p>
<p>"Come, I must have a dress you can borrow."</p>
<hr/>
<p>"Lady Rosalyn, this is too generous." Cora reclined against the chaise in Lady Rosalyn's room, watching the woman rifle through her wardrobe.</p>
<p>"I insist," She pulled a pale blue dress out, smiling warmly, "Oh you simply must wear this one; it matches your eyes perfectly!" She lay it on the bed and perched on the edge next to it, her hands clasped together, "Besides, you can bring it back tomorrow and stay for some tea. I'm sure the ladies would love an opportunity to meet you. You must have so many stories to tell!"</p>
<p>They were interrupted by Lady Rosalyn's lady's maid. She carried with her a small selection of sandwiches.</p>
<p>"You," Cora sat up, gesturing with both arms for her to bring the tray to her, "are an angel."</p>
<p>Upon taking the first bite she threw her head back with abandon, a moan of delight sounding in her throat. It could very well have been the worst thing she'd ever eaten and her reaction would have been the same.</p>
<p>Lady Rosalyn hid a giggle behind her hand, enthralled by how uninhibited her new companion was, "Did you really travel all night to get here?"</p>
<p>"Mmm," Cora began around the sandwich, then paused, retaining enough propriety to think better "I was lucky it was the lady of the house that came to my rescue." She enthused.</p>
<p>"Oh no, that's my mother-in-law. I'll have to introduce you to her. Perhaps another time though, as I can imagine you want nothing more than a comfortable bed. Croft," She addressed the lady's maid, "Please help Miss Levinson into a dry dress so she can get back to her hotel."</p>
<p>A few small sandwiches had made a world of difference and, as she accepted Croft's help, Cora thought back on the evening, "I'd actually like to apologise to Robert first. What he must think of me." She whined as she recalled quite how familiar she'd been with him.</p>
<p>"Robert?" Rosalyn puzzled before the realisation hit, "Lord Downton. No, he'll be brooding somewhere. Much better to speak to him at another ball when he's had time to realise how small a matter it was."</p>
<p>"I may not have the chance; after tonight my social calendar is quite barren." It suddenly dawned on Cora that if all hope was lost they might return home earlier than expected. She failed to see how she could bring herself back from a display such as this evening's.</p>
<p>"Then you really must join us for tea. Lady Allam will certainly invite you to her ball and you'll no doubt make a brilliant impression given a fresh start" Rosalyn smiled, resolute in her plan.</p>
<p>The woman's kindness was astounding and Cora found her own lips curving upwards, "Thank you Lady Rosalyn, you don't know how nice it is to have made a friend."</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Wilson, it was the most embarrassing moment of my life." Cora leant against the vanity, resting her forehead against her palm.</p><p>Since waking, she had spent much of her time reflecting on her actions the evening before. The night's rest had allowed her to review with a clear head. Attempting to find a dance partner whilst feeling less than her best had been unwise; if she were being honest with herself she'd known that then too but had been unable to call forth the courage to introduce herself to any of the clusters of women scattered around the room. A chance to skip the formal introduction had been far too tempting.</p><p>She had given him her first name. <em>How forward must that have seemed?</em> Cora groaned outwardly, realising that she would both need to acknowledge and rectify that when she apologised.</p><p>"I'm sure it can't be anything as bad as you imagine, Miss," Wilson reached across to collect the hairbrush and began on Cora's hair, "Lady Wainwright did invite you to tea after all."</p><p>The pale blue dress upon the armchair in the corner served only as a reminder of her transgressions. Had it not been for her need to return it, Cora was not certain she'd follow through with her promise to attend. Lady Rosalyn would think her foolish and there was no doubt in her mind that the story would be the talk of their tea.</p><p>"I think she may only wish to ensure her dress is returned in one piece."</p><p>The pair were quiet as Wilson continued her styling of Cora's hair secured the younger woman's hair in a large twist at the nape of her neck. When Cora did not lift her head in the minutes following, Wilson cleared her throat softly.</p><p>"Miss," She waited for Cora to meet her eyes in the mirror, "May I speak candidly?"</p><p>Cora didn't speak but nodded solemnly.</p><p>"In many ways you are your father's daughter and I know you are very proud of that. But you have your mother's ability to keep your chin up and push on with what needs to be done, no matter how others may perceive it. That strength will do you well today, I think." Setting the brush down, Wilson offered a reassuring smile and moved to collect the borrowed dress, "And, if after breakfast you find you will be too busy today to attend Lady Wainwright's tea, I can return this with your apologies."</p><p>Cora signed. The maid was right, as much as it sometimes pained her to admit, she had inherited her mother's obstinate nature. It often saw the two at loggerheads but Cora found she was thankful for it at that moment.</p><p>She stood from the vanity stool, shaking her head, "Thank you, Wilson. That won't be necessary. Though perhaps you might join me?" She waited for Wilson's nod of agreement before continuing, "However I have a more pressing matter for you to attend to this morning."</p><p>With that, Cora reached for the delicately carved box in which she's stowed the letters from their journey. A waft of her perfume hit her as she lifted the lid. <em>Good. </em>It would surely still hold the scent when it reached Mr Fenich half a world away.</p><hr/><p>Having entrusted the delivery of the letters to Wilson, Cora entered the suite's dining room, hearing her mother before she saw her.</p><p>"I asked for coffee." Martha stared into her mug, lip snarling up in distaste.</p><p>Their porter, a young slip of a man, wrung his hands together, his eyes darting to the pot on the serving tray, "Forgive me, madam, this is coffee. I..I double checked it myself."</p><p><em>Word must have spread about her outburst yesterday</em>, Cora mused as she joined him by the tray and began pouring her own cup. It certainly looked like coffee, but she had to admit, it was lacking the heady aroma of her usual morning cup.</p><p>"Then kindly send me someone who can distinguish between coffee and," Martha paused, taking the smallest of sips. She gave herself time to mull over her answer before swallowing, "pond water."</p><p>She dismissed him with a wave of her hand and started on her toast. That, at least, they hadn't gotten wrong.</p><p>"Mother," Cora admonished, as the porter fled from the room, "Be nice to the poor man. It can't be that bad." She supped from her own cup before abruptly placing it back on the tray and grimacing, "Good god, that's truly awful."</p><p>Settling for a glass of water, she took a bowl of porridge from the breakfast tray and joined her mother at the table. Despite her earlier protest Martha continued to lift the small cup of coffee to her mouth, her nostrils flaring with each laborious swallow. Cora knew well enough how her mother made the switch from slightly trying to odious without her morning coffee and so it seemed that the acrid liquid in her cup was better than no coffee at all.</p><p>"We should have brought our own." Martha voiced with vexation as she reached the bottom of her cup.</p><p>"We could telegram father? He might be able to send us something."</p><p>Martha nodded in agreement, "I'll have Wilson run one down to the front desk."</p><p>"Actually I've already commandeered Wilson for the day." "You might have to send it yourself." At her mother's questioning glance, Cora added, "Lady Rosalyn's tea; it would be rather improper for me to arrive alone." It wasn't entirely untrue; Wilson would be accompanying her that afternoon, ensuring the safe delivery of the borrowed dress to Lady Rosalyn's lady's maid, however this morning Cora had tasked her with venturing out from the hotel to post her letters via a method that couldn't somehow get back to her mother.</p><p>"Mmm," It was clear from the pursing of her lips that Martha longed to protest this but she instead bit her tongue, acquiescing, "Anything that will ingratiate you. Lord knows you didn't help yourself last night. Time to bring out the Levinson charm."</p><hr/><p>"Miss Levinson!" Lady Rosalyn's voice carried over the sitting room as she rose to greet Cora, "How lovely to see you again." She grasped Cora's hand with her own and squeezed tightly, "Come, you must meet everyone."</p><p>Turning, Rosalyn led Cora by the hand to the small group of women at the room's centre. They watched her with intrigue and Cora wondered just how much they had been told already. Stifling a blush, Cora let her eyes flit from one set to the next. She was quite certain she recognised most of them from the previous evening and realised they could well have seen her blunder firsthand.</p><p>"Now let's see, we have Lady Jane Marston, Lady Catherine Allam, and my dear sister Lady Grace Wainwright." Each nodded as their name was given and their smiles seemed as genuine as Lady Rosalyn's, "Ladies, may I introduce Miss Cora Levinson from America. She arrived in London only yesterday and somehow still managed to attend your ball, Grace!"</p><p>"It was a delightful evening Lady Grace. I'm only sorry I didn't get to tell you so last night." Cora sat alongside Lady Jane Marston on the ornate sofa closest to the fire and watched as Lady Grace positively clapped with elation.</p><p>"So the rumours are true, there <em>was</em> an American at my ball last night. What fun!" Grace's joy sang out in her words and she leant forward enraptured, "Was it very different from those at home?"</p><p>"Not too dissimilar from what I recall." Her short time at the ball hadn't provided much insight into what was typical, however she daren't admit this for fear of further questioning.</p><p>It seemed she needn't have worried. Lady Grace was all too happy that Cora had spoken once more to care much about the particulars of what she was saying. Not lifting her gaze from Cora, she stood, side-stepping around the sofa to the small tea tray.</p><p>"Oh there must be something!" Her teeth worried mindlessly at her bottom lip, lost in thought as she poured a fresh cup of tea and offered it to Cora who wordlessly accepted, "What about the dances?"</p><p>"I only managed one dance and I'm afraid it was quite the same." Drinking from the cup, Cora was glad to discover the tea was markedly more palatable than her morning coffee had been, "Though, are all the men such strong dancers?"</p><p>Lady Jane choked slightly on her tea, "If he could dance, he must not have been English."</p><p>A giggle erupted forth from Lady Catherine at this, "Lady Jane believes herself a better dancer than every man in England and she's made certain they know it." Her eyes glistened with mirth as she teased her friend.</p><p>"If they cannot command the dance floor then someone must!" Jane set her tea down before continuing defiantly, "I'd rather not dance at all than be under the limp direction of an unassertive man."</p><p>There was a moment, as the potential of a double meaning hit each woman in succession, before they broke into raucous laughter. Why hadn't she heard conversations like this the night before? She had instead been met with a sea of seemingly aloof faces. Or at least, it had felt like that at the time.</p><p>Wishing to steer the conversation back to Cora, Lady Grace spoke through the laughter "Why did you only manage one dance? I would happily have given up several of mine if there was a shortage of men."</p><p>There it was; the line of questioning that Cora had so hoped to avoid. She opened her mouth, willing a plausible lie to come to her. Nothing. She was quite stuck for what to say and instead reached once more for her tea. If she tried to spin anything too far from the truth, would Lady Rosalyn correct her?</p><p>"Oh, I…" Cora stumbled for an answer that wouldn't alienate her completely.</p><p>"Miss Levinson had the misfortune of being at the other end of my clumsiness." Lady Rosalyn jumped in, "I tripped over my own feet and made an awful mess of her beautiful dress. I positively ruined the rest of her evening."</p><p>A puzzled look spread across Grace's face, "I've never known you to be clumsy, Rosalyn."</p><p>"Well I was this time." Rosalyn shot a warning look at her sister-in-law before pouting softly, her eyes downcast, "I dread to think I've ended your season before it's even begun, Miss Levinson."</p><p>My, Lady Rosalyn was a convincing actress. For a moment even Cora believed her tale of woe.</p><p>"Ended your season?" Grace stilled at the prospect of hearing no stories of America.</p><p>"I don't know another soul in London." Cora mimicked Lady Rosalyn's demeanour, hoping her portrayal was equally believable, "Your father was gracious enough to let me attend your ball but I have no other invites."</p><p>"You must come to my ball." Lady Catherine asserted, before adding with a grin, "And if you can't find a gentleman to dance with, there's always Jane."</p><p>Catherine fell into giggles again and was soon joined in her laughter by the others as Cora mouthed a relieved <em>thank you</em> in Rosalyn's direction.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The sun had yet to finish setting when their carriage reached the Allam's London residence the following evening. Desperate to avoid a repeat of her last ball, Cora had insisted on leaving their hotel straight after an early dinner. There had been some grumbling from Martha at this but she had reluctantly agreed on the basis that the additional time would make up for their previous early departure.</p><p>As they drew to a halt, Martha surveyed the property, sighing softly, "A history spanning over a millennia and they've yet to develop taste?"</p><p>It was a perfectly fine house from what Cora could see of it: white stone with intricately- designed, wrought iron balcony railings in stark contrast. From what she had seen this was fairly typical for the area. The most striking element, to Cora's way of thinking, were the adjoining houses on either side. She could easily lose herself in the grounds in Newport and Cincinnati. Even in New York there was enough room to at least walk between her home and the next. The proximity here was stifling.</p><p>"What we could teach them if they'd adopt some modernity." The carriage door swung open and Martha exited before turning back to her daughter, "Tell them about your ball last season. With any luck they might learn something from it."</p><p>Cora shook her head softly before accepting the coachman's assistance out of the carriage and joining her mother. She was certain Lady Grace would want a full retelling of her ball at some point this season but she was loath to divulge too deeply. It had been Cora's ball in name only; Martha had ruled proceedings, and it painted an image of herself rather different from the one she put forward.</p><p>Crossing the threshold, the soft lull of strings welcomed them into the hall and Cora clasped her hands together in joy at the familiar melody. If this was the caliber of music she could expect then she would be dancing this evening, that was certain.</p><p>"Darling," Martha chuckled from her side and tilted her head towards the open dancefloor, "Go. Have fun. Mother needs to find a decent drink." With that, Martha had flagged down the nearest footman, and Cora was left quite alone.</p><p>The hall was decidedly empty still and Cora was easily able to pick out Lady Catherine; her face a picture of barely restrained joy. Cora made her way to her, unable to stop the small laugh that escaped her at the Lady's grin.</p><p>"Miss Levinson," She held her hands out to her and Cora gladly accepted the greeting, "You came!"</p><p>"I wouldn't have missed it, Lady Catherine. I'm looking forward to the proper experience of an English ball."</p><p>Catherine let out an excited nod, her curls bouncing across her brow with the movement, "I hope it's everything you expected and more, Miss Levinson. No doubt you'll have plenty of men asking for a dance this evening," She fumbled at the edge of her sleeve, pulling a small fold of paper from it, "Why, look at my dance card already!" She waved it across Cora's eyeline before placing it firmly in her palm. It had six names scrawled across it; every man in the room so far. Drawing closer to Cora, Catherine lowered her tone before adding a surreptitious, "It's the first night I might actually get to dance all evening."</p><p>"I hope you do." Cora returned her dance card, squeezing Lady Catherine's hand tightly within her grasp, "There is nothing more thrilling."</p><p>And she meant it. Prior to Harold's uncouth interruption, Cora had made resolutely certain that she had danced every dance at every ball she had attended. Not every partner had been as sure on his feet as she would have liked, but every twirl around the room was an indulgence she couldn't deny herself.</p><p>A throat cleared behind them shaking Cora from her memories. The pair, turning at the sound, were met with the pointed gaze of a woman bearing a striking resemblance to her new friend. She did not share the overt sense of joy that radiated from Lady Catherine.</p><p>"Mama," Catherine bowed her head slightly as her mother brushed past her and to their newly arrived guests waiting at the hall's entrance.</p><p>Upon seeing another three men amongst the new arrivals, Catherine's grin widened further and she began after the older woman.</p><p>She glanced back at Cora over her shoulder adding quickly, "I'll report back on any competent dancers later." and with that she was gone.</p><p>Once more Cora found herself alone. Tonight she was not the only one, however. Whilst five of the men from Lady Catherine's dance card had banded together, the sixth was alone. He stood perhaps a foot taller than her - a feat in itself given the added height of her heels - and exuded an air of importance that rivaled any she'd encountered so far. No doubt an in with him would put her in good stead for the rest of the season.</p><p>Attempting to tamp down the nerves that suddenly rushed her, Cora placed a hand upon her chest feeling through it the fluttering of her heart. She had danced with a Vanderbilt during her own season for heaven's sake! No matter which family he belonged to, this English lord could hardly be more imposing a societal figure than that.</p><p>Letting her hand fall to her side, Cora fixed her warmest smile on her lips before crossing the small distance between them.</p><hr/><p>"Ladies!" Violet's hiss of indignation as she strode towards their corner hideaway prompted the small group of mothers to lift their heads in near unison. She had arrived mere moments earlier and already it seemed she was on the warpath.</p><p>"The gall!" Incredulous, her nostrils flared. Her eyes tracked Cora's movements across the room, well aware of the prize the young woman sought at the other end of it.</p><p>The heads turned once more, this time towards the dancefloor, eager to see what had her so riled. It took only a moment before murmurs of realisation floated through the group at the short bow of Cora's head as she reached the gentleman in question. She extended her hand to him, in greeting, as her eyes flicked up to meet his.</p><p>A fling of her hand to her chest accompanied Violet's gasp of outrage, "To think a Marquess would deign to speak to her." She shook her head, reading shock in the group's lack of response, "American you know. Lady Allam invited her, no doubt to distract from any misgivings anyone might have about her own daughter. The way <em>those people</em> expect the British to fawn over them simply because they have millionaire fathers. It's not decent."</p><p>"Awful isn't it?" The woman to her left agreed from around her whiskey glass. Violet didn't recognise her.</p><p>"Excuse me?"</p><p>"Giving people such an impression. Don't worry, I'll speak to her and make sure, in the future, she makes it clear that her father is a multi-millionaire. What would help? More diamonds do you think? I'd hate for anyone to think we were practically destitute." Matha extended the hand not holding her glass, "Martha Levinson."</p><p>Violet blanched.</p><hr/><p>His eyes met hers as Cora's neared but he did not return her warm countenance, instead remaining tepid at best. With a soft incline of her head, she glanced up at him through her lashes and extended her hand in greeting, "Miss Cora Levinson."</p><p>He did not take it.</p><p>"The music's beautiful." She posited as she rescinded the proffered hand and straightened herself once more. When he gave no response, she added, "Do you have a favourite?"</p><p>"Favourite?" His tone matched the disinterest he outwardly displayed.</p><p>Their height difference seemed to his advantage, his surly gaze now fixed somewhere above Cora's head. Had she been more well acquainted with society there, she might have called him out on his manner; she would have done had he been any man in Newport.</p><p>"Composer." Cora clarified, her smile slowly fading. Still he remained stoic,"I do love Strauss," She volunteered, in a now desperate attempt to cajole a response. Could he really be so priggish? Her pride forced her on, "Though I find myself quite unable to deny myself the pleasure of humming along."</p><p>"Quite." He sneered, "I'm astounded someone from the colonies can name a European composer. I've never met one educated on the subject." A beat passed, "Or much else."</p><p>"I think you'll find American's rather more educated than you'd realise." Cora simpered, adamant that her indignation wouldn't show outwardly, "More so than many of the English I've encountered."</p><p>His nostrils flared dangerously. Cora would not be ingratiating herself with him after all.</p><p>Nervous energy and vexation filled her, giving her an external courage she didn't feel, and she brazenly held her hand out to him daring him not to take it. His fingers were cold, even through her glove.</p><p>"Lord Augustus Paulet. Marquess of Winchester." He withdrew his hand from her grasp sharply, "Perhaps it's better you avoid dancing this evening if you're incapable of remaining quiet. Spare yourself the embarrassment." His eyes snapped down to hers, their dour sending a chill through her, "Good evening, <em>Miss</em> Levinson."</p><p>With that he about turned, striding into the crowd of fresh faces that had arrived since their conversation had begun.</p><hr/><p>At some point during her disastrous exchange Ladies Rosalyn, Grace and Jane had arrived, their skirts rustling around their ankles as they neared. Grace took the lead, reaching for Cora's still outstretched hand.</p><p>"My dear Miss Levinson, have you secured a dance with Lord Paulet when the evening's barely begun?" Her words were tinged with a touch of envy, as she watched him back over her shoulder, but her face showed nothing but kindliness.</p><p>"Not quite." Cora breathed, barely audibly, eyes downcast.</p><p>"It's a wonder you've managed it;" Mused Lady Jane with barely veiled scepticism, "He speaks to no one unless expressly directed to by his mama."</p><p>Casting a reproachful eye at her companions, Lady Rosalyn took Cora's arm firmly in hers, though Cora could muster little more than a grimace in response. "Did we not say you'd have a much better time of it given the opportunity? Surely this proves it, Miss Levinson."</p><p>"It would, had I not received a dressing down and the advice not to dance, with him or anyone else." Cora sighed, letting herself lean into Rosalyn's embrace.</p><p>The ladies sparked into action simultaneously; Rosalyn stroking the arm of Cora's she held, Grace reviling his dancing from the previous evening, and Jane spitting out a harsh "Cad," her expression darkening. Their show of support seemed to serve its purpose and Cora lifted her eyes once more.</p><p>"You need a gentleman to approach you, Miss Levinson. And they'll hardly see you hiding here." As she spoke, Rosalyn shifted her weight slightly, subtly prompting Cora to straighten up out of her grasp.</p><p>Lady Grace took over from her sister-in-law, nodding in earnest, "Once you're up their dancing, you're sure to have offers for dances for the rest of the evening."</p><p>"Just one problem with that." Cora's glum demeanour returned and she worried her bottom lip with her teeth, "I'm lacking the first partner."</p><p>"I don't know that it's worth the effort." Lady Jane contended, casting a withering eye on the men around them.</p><p>"Nonsense," Rosalyn chided before offering a hopeful smile to Cora, "I spotted Lady Grantham not long ago. If she's here, Lord Downton's certain to be holed away somewhere."</p><p>A fresh set of palpitations began in Cora's chest.</p><hr/><p>If he was here he was keeping well hidden. On her fourth pass of the ballroom Cora conceded that perhaps it was time for a change of tack. Gathering her skirts, Cora extricated herself from the crowd and out of the hall.</p><p>The relative quiet of the entryway was a juxtaposition she was unprepared for and she questioned for a moment whether it had been wise to leave the thrum of people. Even if she did find him, he had no reason to dance with her. Especially not after the previous mishap. At the very least she would need to apologise; it wouldn't do to have two lords placing her disrepute. It was her sought after penance that drove her onward.</p><p>Through the open doorway to the street, she caught sight of several well-clad figures highlighted in the vestiges of the descending sun. Stepping out to join them, she instantly regretted the decision; the slight chill from the cloudless summer evening sky prickling her skin. Suppressing a shiver, Cora broke away from the small crowd of party-goes amassed by the door and moved further into the street.</p><p>She saw him instantly. He leant heavily against the railings, conversing amiably with a woman with rich auburn hair. The shallow angle of the sun's rays caused it to glow golden, complimenting her delicate features. Cora watched as her lips moved quickly in conversation, her words causing a deep chuckle to sound from Robert, his eyes creasing at her quip.</p><p>"<em>Oh.</em>" Cora intoned in an agonised sigh.</p><p>Of course he would be courting. It would have been foolish to assume otherwise, and yet the idea hadn't even crossed her mind until that very moment. She silently reprimanded herself for her own stupidity. Should he want a dance partner, he'd have one already.</p><p>Before she could turn on her heel and return inside, the redhead sauntered past her, the scent of sandalwood billowing from her. Robert did not follow her. Lifting her gaze, Cora's eyes met Robert's. He'd seen her; to leave now would be discourteous.</p><p>"Darn," She hissed out in a breath before allowing a more neutral expression to mould her features, "Good evening, Lord Downton."</p>
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